


Love, Guilt and Reparation

by superfrog



Category: BLACKPINK (Band), EXO (Band)
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Making Up, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-02 17:58:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14550210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superfrog/pseuds/superfrog
Summary: Here is a study of love: hands trembling in the dark, confident in the sun. Here is the study of guilt: choice curses and bloody knuckles in familiar alleys. Here is reparation: a million apologies in the space between hello and goodbye.--Harry Potter AU.





	1. Abstract.

For all that he wanted to escape that nightmare in England, a single letter had him coming right back. 

It certainly wasn’t for lack of trying. He had gotten purposefully lost in ‘research’. There was a plethora of interesting things in the Amazon, of course. It was a rainforest, as secluded as any other place south of the equator would be, and it was thriving with what remained of plant life that Muggles didn’t do away with. The conservation efforts were plentiful, and so were the research teams. The hard part had already been done by the time he arrived there. Writing a research proposal for a doctorate was harder than having to be on his own. He had been given funds to assemble his team, and he recruited Rose for it, too.

It started with,  _ come away with me _ .

It had been simple enough. Yixing needed a companion that was neither lover nor stranger (the encounter in the Astronomy Tower years ago didn’t count; if anything, made him more sympathetic to her), and he knew Rose to be kind and intelligent beyond belief. He looked at her then as an accomplice, a new partner-in-not-crime, a friend to carry with him to this new life, familiar and strange and wide-eyed all the same. She was no Jinri, with whom he shared history, or Seungcheol, who always had other, nobler things to attend to, or Krystal…

Choosing Rose had been a calculated decision, no matter how it may have been perceived on her end. All that he wanted to develop with her was a sense of kinship, some  _ connection _ while he was away. Nothing quite so selfless. That was only half a lie, a dash of charm to have her agree with him. 

He never intended to develop something quite like  _ this _ with her; when she had him eager to kiss her to ardently; when she had him glad for her company, for her comfort, closer than friends, beyond childish, misguided love. He wanted to  _ return _ to England, to where all that mess was, if it meant finding safe harbour.

But a letter– that damn letter! –called to him a month early and he could do nothing but reply with his presence. 

Krystal said:  _ we aren’t finished _ , and showed him the survivors of the carnage they left behind. All that shadow lingers in their knuckles when they fought. All that blood, all that pain seeped into his veins and he let her inject him with it again because he loved her, too, in the way one would feel fond of their family. Krystal was family. She could be nothing else. 

Everyone knew that when family called on a Slytherin to help, they would drop their lives for all but a request. He didn’t think that he would have to give up a chance for a better future, too. Promises to family would always take precedence over promises to new girlfriends, even if that meant missing Rose’s graduation, or reading her messages but never being at liberty to reply to any of them, or receiving calls and having to end it just as quickly for fear that he’d drag her into this, too, if anyone else was listening in to their conversations. He missed Krystal. He did not miss the paranoia, the guilt, the horror of it all.


	2. Introduction

**THE AMAZON JUNGLE.**

**PERU, JULY 2017.**

 

Yixing was surprised that Rose Park, who looked like she would get bitten by an exotic insect of some sort, had already survived an entire week-and-a-half in his company. All six of them had been trekking by the Amazon River for the past week, or somewhere close to it, and had so far camped further inland to reach Peruvian ruins that was a digsite all up until two weeks ago, when their lead runologist had fallen ill due to some undercooked lizard meat. It was why Yixing recommended Rose in the first place to the team.

All six of them had their fair share of disagreements, too, but that was inevitable with their varying priorities. Their guides, Claudio and Tomas Ruiz, were a pair too embittered by _gringo_ coming in and making vacations out of their homes in and around Tarapoto;  and the pair of magi-zoologists, Isabella Boroi and Malak Khori, wanted to stay near the river and where it was damp to collect their Peruvian salamanders and their Dugbogs. Yixing, of course, was there only to study the dangerous plants that this _wonderful_ environment allowed them to thrive in, and Rose, although he had originally promised her (relatively) safe passage to some rare, yet-to-be-deciphered Peruvian runes further inland, should’ve known better than to assume that that would only take an Apparition to reach.

Yixing had been with them for a week or so longer than Rose had been, having met them all in Lima, but that didn’t mean he had developed quite enough patience to deal with naturalists poking at driftwood, or the incessant bickering of their Peruvian guides, or Rose, who looked slightly worried than Yixing would have liked for his own nerves to settle.

By the time they reached the ruins, there was only a skeleton crew: four young kids – Yixing thought they looked pretty young – who shot up from their makeshift seats and put down their beer, and reached for their hard hats and wands. All of them had been dressed casually, with no protective gear at all, and looked quite comfortable before Yixing’s party arrived. Now, they milled about, and pointedly talked amongst themselves as if they were busy.

They had cleared the area previously, and naturally set up their own camp, complete with tents and a makeshift shaded area from tarp and four pieces of wood stuck in the ground, underneath which lay a wooden table, which Yixing guessed would be for shared mealtimes. Farther from there, on the other end and far closer to the edge, were some closed-off booths, marked as the toilet and the shower, respectively. At least they had _those_.

Surprisingly, there wasn’t much sunlight here, either. Most of it was blocked by the towering temple-like structure that dominated the clearing itself. Inscriptions bigger than he’d seen lined the outside stone, and an entrance, framed by heavy equipment lights on either side, seemed recently dug out.

“Benedita Coelho,” the lady introduced herself, approaching them, smiling as if she and her friends hadn’t just been caught lounging about. Claudio shook her hand as the rest of them filed into the clearing, and motioned for Yixing to do the same. She didn’t look at him when she spoke, and let go of his hand as she did. “I am the apprentice of Professor Gallo. He got sick after he tried to eat crocodile without asking the rest of us how to cook it. A man who spent most of his time in Rio never knew how to cook the meals they gave him in his time at Castelobruxo.”

At that, Claudio and Tomas laughed. The latter replied, “It was good meat. I don’t blame him for wanting to eat it again.”

“Agreed! It would’ve been good.” She smiled, placed her hand in her pocket, and motioned for the rest to follow her. “We’ve been told to wait until your crew arrived, and make sure that the Devil’s Snare in the temple doesn’t spread to the entrance –”

“You didn’t kill it, did you?” Yixing piped up, keeping pace with Benedita. She let out a loud _ha!_ short and sharp, as if he had amused her somehow.

“I’m guessing you’re the herbologist Professor Gallo mentioned?”

“You never asked my name,” he answered. “But yes, I am _that_ herbologist.” He hesitated for another half second, “Yixing Song.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Song. There’s space over there for you to set up your tents,” she indicated, motioning towards the rest of the work area. There wasn’t much space at all for all of them, but he supposed, if they pitched their tents as close as they could be, it would be enough. “We don’t want to make any more space, you see. We don’t want _caipora_ or anything else bothering us.”

“Those are native to Brazil, are they not?” Isabella chimed in, all thick accent, sounding like she knew better even though she was probably just curious about it.

“Until twenty years ago, yes,” Benedita answered, while Claudio and Tomas made to break off from the group and speak to the apprentices at the entrance. Benedita didn’t seem to mind. “Some wandered far from Castelobruxo and settled around here. They don’t bother us as long as we don’t bother them.” There was a lull that followed; they were uneasy. Sweaty. Benedita only had to look at the four of them before waving away whatever else she was about to say. “You must all be tired! I’ll let you set up your tents. We will work tomorrow.”

At that, she went away, and the naturalists went about their work. Yixing caught Rose just before she claimed a spot, right at the edge of the clearing.

“Do you mind if I set up camp beside you?” he asked, nudging her a little. She seemed startled by it. It didn’t escape him that she hadn’t spoken much at all during the trip.

“No! No, not at all,” she answered, fishing around in her backpack for the tent as Yixing did the same. “I’d rather have you than anyone else.”

“Are you having fun?” he asked to fill the awkward silence in the seconds that followed. That was to be expected. They weren’t the best of friends back in the day, and had exchanged a few letters beforehand out of politeness, but nothing more. Yixing thought that she was better rid of Max, and that had been his biggest concern about her then, aside from the Quidditch rivalry between their Houses. (He maintained, of course, that Slytherin was the best.)

“Trekking through rainforest? Sure,” she replied as her tent and his unravelled. She slung her backpack on her shoulder and held onto the straps. “I didn’t think the project would be _this_ big. You should’ve told me….” She sighed, and adjusted the tied hair behind her head. “A professor was working on this, Yixing. I’m not even qualified like _that_.”

“You’ll do great,” he reassured her, refraining from placing his hand on her head. She was no child to be reassured. They were both adults now, both grown and far away from home. “I believe it. Besides, you have the professor’s apprentices at your disposal. They’re not going to let you work on it alone.”

“And the Devil’s Snare?”

“That’s my catch,” he announced too eagerly. “And yours are your runes. Didn’t I say it was going to be an adventure?”

She laughed a little, then, just as sweaty and red and spent, and he didn’t know whether to pat her on the back for good luck or worry about her nerves as well as his own. He settled for neither, and smiled back. It had been a while since anything so simple brought him to a grin without sarcasm, without malice. It would be amiss if he didn’t admit that he was excited to see her succeed.

“I’ll see you for supper, Mr. Song.”

“See you then, Ms. Park.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magical terms, in order of appearance: 
> 
> Tarapoto – Peruvian town; home to the Peruvian Quidditch team, Tarapoto Tree-Skimmers.
> 
> Peruvian salamanders – purple salamanders resistant to Diffindo and Incendio.
> 
> Dugbogs – marsh-dwelling magical creature that resembles a piece of dead wood while stationary. Feeds on small animals and bites ankles.
> 
> Castelobruxo – magical school in Brazil; guarded by caipora.
> 
> Caipora – small and furry spirit-beings who are extraordinarily mischievous; native to the Amazon rainforest.


	3. In Light of Early Anxieties

**BRITISH CONSERVATORY OF MAGICAL ARTIFACTS.**

**LONDON, AUGUST 2018.**

He began the day at six in the morning. Half of the day was spent knocking on doors, asking for a name. The other half was spent trying to keep the roses in his hands alive, and the balloons in the other hand well-puffed up. When he finally found her, it was three in the afternoon, and he counted himself lucky that she wasn’t on some lunch break or took the day off. He counted himself extremely embarrassed when she opened the door for him, and stepped aside for him to enter. Maybe having both “Sorry” and “Congratulations on your graduation!” balloons sent the wrong message.

In the sun through the windows, she glowed much brighter. It seemed as if she had done better for herself here than he ever imagined, if the numerous books and runes and rolled-up scrolls were any indication. They unfurled in the air without her having to raise a wand, solving themselves with a formula or code or cipher to some riddle he was sure she already figured out. She did not smile at him. He did not _expect_ her to smile at him, not after what he’d done (or failed to do) but he did not expect the chill of her gaze. Yixing had had a whole apology planned before he closed the door behind him with his foot.

“ _Before_ you say anything,” he began, thinking that it was a pretty decent, unwarranted introduction, “I want to say I’m sorry.” Awkwardly, he crossed the slight distance between them, right in the middle of the room, and handed her the bouquet, and the balloons. She took the latter, and took a step back.

She looked at him as if she could decipher him, like one of her runes, arms crossed over her chest. Then, as if disappointed by what she saw, she sighed, “Nothing to be sorry for. I understand.”

That was too easy. “You do?”

“Yes,” she answered confidently, almost agitatedly. Admittedly, it wasn’t often that he saw her annoyed in his presence, but this went farther than that: she made distance between them when he had been speaking, and now leaned against her book-strewn desk, and made no effort to look at him. She said nothing else, and simply laid the bouquet atop her academia.

“Look, I’m really sorry. I was busy,” he explained, as vague as any explanation could be. Yixing was sure that that wouldn’t do at all for someone he could not lie to, and he attempted to elaborate as much as he could: “Krystal needed help with...things. It was unexpected, and went on for much longer than it should have.”

Dissatisfied, she scoffed at that. “I’m sure you _helped_ her with plenty.” No, it wasn’t just annoyance. There was plenty she could’ve said without saying it at all. “How long was it, then? I didn’t count.”

“What – no, it’s not what you think!” he defended. Her blows stung, to be sure, but if he could explain – ”There was...trouble. I didn’t want you involved in it.”

“I’m sure you didn’t. I wouldn’t have had a place between the two of you, now, would I?” she bit back, stinging more, sounding just about as indignant and furious and frustrated at him as he expected her to be. It didn’t hurt any less that she wouldn’t believe him, but what reason had she? They had an adventure together, and for all that it was worth, it could’ve been something else, something more than infatuation on her end and growing _more-everything-more-this-more-heart_ on his end. “Don’t lie to me, Yixing. It’s extremely cruel of you. I saw the both of you.”

“I’m _not_ lying,” he argued, feeling even sillier because he still held onto the balloons. With a breath, he let go, closed his eyes, and tried again. “I don’t know what you thought you saw – wherever, whenever –,”

“Last night!” With her anger, the pens and scrolls and everything magic in the room stalled, and began again when she did, “In Diagon Alley. Do you deny it?”

“No! – stop questioning me as if it’s a crime to help out my friend. You would do the same for Seungcheol, if he asked you to keep him safe,” he answered, his own frustrations growing. But he didn’t come here to be angry at her, especially when he had no right to. Yet there was no escape, now, if she’d seen them last night. He would not lie to her. He had done enough damage. Hesitating first, he continued further.

“Last night….the past few months….we’ve been keeping each other. _Not_ ,” he added quickly, seeing the growing disgust and anger on her face, “in the sense that you’d think. There were bad people we left behind, Rose. Horrible wizards who wanted to drag us back to that bad place.” How else could he describe it to her? How could he, now, tell her of all that they’d done, young and proud and stubborn and power-curious? This was not the time, nor the place. Paranoia lingered in the darkest corners of such a bright room. He couldn’t look at her now. Only at his feet, only with his hands in his pockets while his ears and neck burned with shame. It was quiet whenever he took a breath to pause. “We thought we’d outran them before, and that’s why I left England, and why Krystal has been by herself since. But they found her, and sooner or later, we both knew that if we didn’t deal with them, they’d find me, and you, and everyone else...so we had to take care of it. We had to stop running, but that – that meant we had to fight. And we’ve been fighting, and last night, we finished everything. _That’s_ what you saw. We won our war, Rose. I was only helping Krystal get home, and she was the one telling me to come home. To you. I’ve been looking all over…. I didn’t really know where you were, so I asked at every museum and conservatory….I know you probably won’t believe me, but I can show you –,”

“Stop,” she interrupted. He looked at her then, half-hoping she could get a lick of sense from such a horrible story, and half-hoping that she would remain angry at him, and that he wouldn’t have to explain further. Instead, she ran her hand over her face, and she mumbled something unintelligible behind her palm before her arms dropped to her sides.

“Pardon….?”

“ _Convincing_. I said you’re convincing. Your story, all of it… and I believe you.” Yixing, confused, thought he must have heard wrong. She pressed on when she saw his frown, smiling as if it would ease his nerves a little. (At least she looked at him then!) “I… know I should believe you. Despite you disappearing out of nowhere, you must’ve had a good reason, right? But if it’s just to go back to Krystal, you needn’t weave such an elaborate tale. I told you – it’s extremely cruel to lie about it.”

“I am not – I try not to be cruel,” he insisted. “Not to you.”

“And I believe you, Mr. Zhang,” she replied, smiling for him, undeserved!, as if this was what she had been waiting for. This was not what she should have waited for. She deserved more than that. “If that is all you want from me, then –,”

“A date,” he offered quickly, before the chance disappeared. He had had too many. She was to generous with them. Always had been. “Please. I know it won’t make up for –,”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. Rose laughed a little, sounding more tired than ever. “Yes, you may take me on a date, Mr. Zhang.”

“I – okay,” he said again, knowing little of what she planned or what she thought, or why she said yes when they both knew he had hurt her more than he intended with his silence and his absence. That was unwarranted suffering for both of them, and if it had been him she disappeared on, he never…. Or there would be a chance that he wouldn’t…. “Okay. I’ll text you if you un-block my number. I looked it up on the Google and they said that that was what it meant when I couldn’t call you….”

She laughed at him again, briefly, as if he’d said something hilarious by stating the obvious. People tended to do that more often nowadays. Maybe he was just getting old. “Sure.”

Maybe he was too pessimistic. Maybe he just needed a glimmer of hope, and Rose held an abundance of it. She offered him another dose, and this was not something he would waste again.

“I’ll see you for dinner, then, Ms. Park.”

An echo, perhaps, that she knew well, and this time, she smiled with warmth that could put the sun to shame.

“I’ll see you then, Yixing.”


	4. Building: From the Ground, Up

**The Amazon Jungle.**

**Peru, August 2017.**

The next time they had time enough alone together, it was in the second level of a crumbling temple. Yixing had extracted all the Devil’s Snare roots from the temple walls on the first level, which was all he was really there for – their own wizard weed-whacker! Rose, however, had found her niche with the apprentices. Benedita and Rose seemed closer than Yixing had ever been with her, and for good reason: they stuck together most of the time while Yixing and Isabella and Malak went off into the jungle and hunted for things that could possibly cause great harm if not contained (or cared for) properly. Yixing was proud, to be sure, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t just a _little_ bit cautious – Rose smiled more often than not at those young boys, each with brighter demeanour than the last, and she seemed to fit in _too_ well with them that Yixing had to wonder whether they were just in it to charm her off her socks. It was well within his rights as a _friend_ to inquire, weeks later, when they had some alone time.

She and Benedita called him to the rune-filled chamber without proper cause. All he had was ‘come, we need you’, and he did, obediently. Claudio and Tomas cursed their way out of the entrance by the time he arrived, grime and dirt and sweat clinging to his face and his brow. He was _definitely_ not some handsome South American boy. Just a well-worn Chinese one.

“What’s up?” he asked, ducking a little to avoid the protruding rock from overhead. This had been a collapsed entrance, to be sure, and the lack of light provided the perfect opportunity for any dying Devil’s Snare to thrive in the dark. Now it was all lit up and safe, with all the corridors free from any magical traps. In fact, there didn’t seem to be any traps or curses at all. A lucky find indeed. And when he stepped into the chamber, Benedita was in the middle of a question.

“–so why is it not here?” She turned to him, and sighed. “Mr. Song. Thank you. We called you here because Rose thought you might be of some help, though I’m not sure why.”

“Oh?” he asked, looking to Rose, who had her back turned to him, still focused on the runes above their heads. “What for? There aren’t any dangerous plants here anymore, mind you –,”

“I got it,” Rose interjected suddenly. Rubble trickled down above their heads, filling the miniscule space between her words. She muttered a small apology before finally turning to them – and Yixing could’ve sworn those boys had had an effect on her, because she was smiling just as brightly, if not more so. “This isn’t the main hall, Benedita. It’s a burial site.”

“What – no, that can’t be right. Professor Gallo said that this was the greatest find!”

“No, no….though I am willing to bet there are artifacts on that side of the wall,” Rose answered, pointing at a blocked entrance. There was a statue that had fallen in front of it, and Claudio warned against moving it; said something about angering karmic gods enough by leaving this place to ruin. “We – we might have mistranslated something. Here,” she said, taking her wand out, and tapping at a rune that looked oddly like – 

“The Peruvian rune for death,” Yixing answered without being prompted by a question. He knew at least that much. “Why is that important? We always thought that this was a place of sacrifice.”

“Yes, but this is present in all the runes outside. This phrase is just a marker for what the temple is for. It doesn’t say what this _level_ is for,” Rose argued. “We missed the one next to it.” Ah, and this was why she was smarter, better, picked up on things. The rune was practically scratched out by the Devil’s Snare that had been on it. “Honour. This is where they honour their dead. Ask yourself, then – if the bottom is for the dead, then what would be at the highest level of the temple?”

The realisation was quick. She didn’t need to pause for effect, but the effect was had, anyway.

“That’s why I called for you, Yixing,” she stated, answering his previous question. There was fire in her that could’ve driven away the Devil’s Snare better than he ever could, and what a fire that was. This was her big adventure, and he was glad to be here for it. “I believe we’re going to have to explore further into the temple to find out.”

“Amazing….” Benedita marveled, looking at the runes overhead as if they were new, as if they hadn’t been deciphered already. “Ha, Mr. Song! – I had my reservations about your recommendation, but you were right. Rose _is_ a genius. No offense, Rose.”

“I….none taken?”

“I’ll go tell the others. We’ll gather the excavation equipment!” Spirits anewed, Benedita rushed out of there, and left the two of them alone.

Now did _not_ seem like an appropriate time to voice his interpersonal concerns. Jealousy did not have a place in his heart, not with all this pride. “You did it,” he praised, breathless and taken and excited, placing his hand on her shoulder.

“No, not yet,” she relented, smiling as he was (how did he not realise he was doing it?), and placing her hand over his own. They were both rough from work. “I’ll still need your help, if….if that’s alright to ask.”

“Always,” he reassured her, sounding like a promise. “Front row seats to your success? Yes, please.”

She squeezed his hand then, and did not let go. “Is that why you wanted me to come here?”

“I asked you to come away with me and you said yes,” he sidestepped. It had been a lucky coincidence at the expense of Professor Gallo’s gastric health, but that was a small price to pay. Here she was, glowing in the dark, sweat and blush and smile, and he took his hand away just to be able to hold her own. “I was being selfish.”

“Don’t try to be noble, Yixing. It doesn’t suit you,” she laughed, taking her hand away to hit his arm lightly, and squeezing imperceptibly. “But thank you for the adventure anyway.”

“Like I promised. Have I ever broken a promise?” he asked, half-serious, laughing along with her as the sounds of jinxes resounded against stone. Flecks of rubble filtered from the spaces in aged rock. “We should probably get out of here.”

Something dimmed in her eyes when she averted them, too quickly for Yixing to catch. “Right. Of course.” She led the way out, and just as she stepped over the vine-hewn floor, she lost her balance – and Yixing caught her by the waist, thankfully, just in time.

Who could smell so good in such humidity, in such heat? So close, he caught a whiff of some roseate scent underneath the musty, old dust clinging about them both. Now, more than ever, he felt extremely self-conscious. He let go of her as quickly as she regained her balance, parting with a, “I thought you’d be more careful by now. Don’t you practically live here?”

“Oh, ha _ha_ ,” she told him dryly, not looking at him on her way out. “I’m not the ancient one here – you are.”

“Are you calling me _old_?” Yixing asked after her, laughing away the inevitable rise of his heartbeat to his throat.

“ _Ancient_ ,” she laughed, and looked at him all with sunlight at the edges of her eyes. 


	5. Perspectival Difference I

**The Amazon Jungle.**

**Peru, August 2017.**

Rose knew him better. She really did. It was always a matter of life-and-death for him; always some great, terrible adventure. Do this or do that, but never hesitate. He had been like that when they were younger and he hadn’t changed a bit. He hadn’t stopped being attractive, either, or ambitious. That was another thing – he needed to stop being progressively _more_ Yixing every time they saw each other. At least not at the expense of her heart.

Yet, like all else, she figured him out like a rune, and it went like this:

Song Yixing certainly did not lack anything in terms of physicality. He had grown more muscular, somehow. Less lean, and looked more like he actually enjoyed his time outside than be obligated by it. His hair had gotten longer, unchecked, wilder than she remembered him. There were tan lines on his arms and his thighs from the sun. There were small wounds on his hands, his knuckles, his legs, which arose from all his _adventuring_ while she stayed in the confines of old walls, looking at ancient runes. When he placed his hand on her shoulder, though, it was much lighter than anyone would anticipate. When he caught her as she stumbled on large roots and stones and pieces of dead wood, it always felt like he would let go sooner than she wanted him to.  

Structurally, he was sound.

The semantics of his form was, however, deceptively simple: he was running away from something. _Constantly_ , too, and she didn’t need to know the details of his story to figure it out. Everyone knew it in Hogwarts. Slytherins always had some lurking secret they thought was hidden from everyone else. Everyone knew that he had family elsewhere, and that his sister and his brother-in-law weren’t the only ones. Some whispered that he came from a family of murderers, and his reputation almost always confirmed it or came off as an attempt not to. Out loud, he always proclaimed this: that Victoria Song adopted him, that he owed his life to his sister, that he had no other family than her.

Even then, he was running away. Even now, he was running away, even if he was so close. He had always been out-of-reach. Always had some place amongst the stars she always admired. Always there, somehow, winning and laughing and smiling, but _not really_. Even now, so close, so absorbed in his work, she found that he always pulled away, always maintained some distance.

She didn’t presume to cross it. There was that one time, the night they arrived, when he borrowed the team’s owl to send his own messages. He had been doing that every night since. Rose didn’t _want_ to jump to conclusions about to whom those letters might be, but she had a good inkling as to the addressee. Yixing was nothing if not a creature of habit, a man of method. She admired that about him, and the way he worked.

The only problem with this analysis was, perhaps, that she admired him too much.

That made it so much harder to refuse the drinks the company took after they cleared the second level successfully. It was hard enough to refuse his offer to escape England and all its memories, even for a brief few months, and now it seemed as if she had jumped right into a world she was ill-equipped to handle. It was even harder when he asked to be let into her tent, newly-showered and dressed in something other than cargo shorts and a white shirt, asking for a haircut for the first time in months. He asked her if she had anything that could cut the hair that tickled his eyes and she did; she just didn’t know how much more handsome he’d be clean-shaven and looking as if he’d be comfortable both here, and in a black-tie event. When she kicked him out he invited her to their little drinking party, and that was that. No, _I hope to see you there_ , at least not with his words.

She could decipher runes. She couldn’t decipher _him_. It was foolish of her to think that she could do so on common ground – by drinking him under the table with some Peruvian version of firewhiskey. The problem was that it didn’t burn so much on the way down, and Rose thought that she could handle it. It burned a lot, however, just under her skin, in her bones, in the tips of her fingers when Yixing indulged her another drink when she asked for it, and another, and another. There was something infectious about everyone else’s laughter, too, and the warm air, and the light Amazonian tone that drifted from the trees, brimming with life yet-untouched, pure, and good.

Then, without warning and with proper cause, she stood up and damn near fell on the ground, _laughing_ –

And Yixing caught her. Again.

“Oops,” she giggled, leaning against him, holding onto his arm and having a palm on his chest. _"Oh_ ,” she marvelled, hand over the old, sweaty front of his shirt, forming a delightful little ‘v’. It hadn’t been like that before. Had it gotten so warm for him, too? “Oh, you caught me. Thanks.”

“Sit back down, Rose,” he advised her, leading her to that rickety plastic chair. She tugged on his sleeve instead.

“Only if you sit next to me,” she whined, and he laughed in turn. He didn’t laugh often. It sounded good, and she thought to tell him, but he sat beside her like she asked and, so pleased by it, she leaned against him again. He seemed undisturbed by it, taking out his wand to fill her glass with water instead of alcohol, like a tanned Asian Jesus in a button-down, smelling like a sweaty David Beckham. It was so _unfair_ . “You were always so _nice_. Is that why you and Krystal work so well together?”

“Never heard you talk about a girl, Yixing,” Claudio teased, nudging him. “Is that who you send letters to every night?”

“Not _every_ night!” Yixing defended hotly, and the volume of his indignation caused Rose to lean away, to place her elbow on the table and support her cheek against her palm.

“You shouldn’t be so shy about your girlfriend, Mr. Song,” Isabella insisted, looking to Malak when she said it, and spoke again quickly: “We’re sure she’s a good fit for you.”

Rose laughed then before Yixing could get anything out. “They were! They’ve been together since we were in Hogwarts, haven’t you, Yixing? They went off on some great adventure, too, last I heard.”

“Ah….no, we haven’t – we’re not together….anymore,” Yixing said quietly, taking another shot, not wincing as Rose did. That caught her attention more so than what he said. There was sadness there that made her own tongue taste bitter just by bringing it up. Everyone else grew silent for another beat before Yixing spoke again, “I mean, we’re friends! We’re good friends. That’s why I still keep in touch.” He looked at her, then, and smiled, as if he understood why she would bring this up, even though she herself comprehended little at this point. Or maybe he smiled as if he knew this would send her heartbeat careening into her ears, so much so that she could hardly look away. “I’m single.”

“ _Dios mio,_ ” Benedita sighed, drunk in equal measure as the rest of them. “Just get a room. Or a tent.”

“Rose and I are friends, too!” he defended to everyone else on the table, causing a ruckus, a bunch of laughs and incredulity. She chose to drink again, and was slightly disappointed that water ran down her throat. There went the heartbeat. All that burned her face was shame, imprinting itself on her cheeks with intoxication. “Isn’t that right, Rose?”

She said nothing, which gave everyone else room to comment.

“And you take her on an adventure too, to woo her? Bastard,” Tomas teased half-heartedly. “Claudio did that to me, too. ‘Adventure’, they say! Always an adventure. Then, before you know it, they marry you.”

“I like adventure,” Malak piped up calmly, seemingly unaffected by the alcohol. Looking at her, and her glass, Rose was unsure whether she drank any in the first place. “You are all too romantic.”

“A different kind of romantic,” Yixing argued.

“Romantic all the same,” Claudio pointed out, earning a small grunt from Yixing, who seemed disgruntled by the fact. Rose could only laugh at it, her body following suit, leaning to the side again until Yixing caught her arm. “I think you need to bring your _friend_ to her tent.”

“I’m fine!” she piped up, taking another hearty swig, and attempting to stand. She managed it somewhat, if having to use Yixing’s shoulder as support counted as successful. “I’m _fine_.”

“Alright, alright, let’s get you to bed,” Yixing said, laughing a little at her, as if she was silly – as if she was the same girl on that Astronomy Tower, as if she was still his junior in every way that she didn’t want to matter. He held her hand and wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him again. Leaned against him always.

Some laughter followed them on their way there, and as they progressed, inch by inch, Rose led the pace with the dread of an oncoming headache. It throbbed just behind her eyes, subtle, and she just wanted to stay still, mumbling a small “No….” as they went. It felt just as far as Yixing always was.

“C’mon, Rosie,” he spoke, gentle, with the greatest degree of care. He had so much of it that she trudged forward, following his steps, too.

“You’re so _nice_ ,” she repeated. “Are you sure you’re not dating Krystal?”

“Wha – why do you ask?”

“Everyone knew that you loved each other a lot,” she answered, unfiltered and unabashed and so, so drunk. Morning didn’t concern her yet; only the silence that followed. He did not say any more, which confirmed plenty. He parted the tent flap with his hand, and led her to bed, where she sat and watched him mill about looking for a glass to fill with more water. She said again: “You loved each other a lot. That’s so nice.”

“We….drifted apart,” Yixing answered, back turned to her until it wasn’t, and she wondered – she wondered. “Like you and Max. I’m glad you’re still not with him. That’s probably a mean thing to say isn’t it? – He was cruel to you.”

“But I don’t fancy him anymore,” she countered when he approached with that damned glass, that stupid water. Firewhiskey lingered in her brain, all that alcohol still processing through, and she wanted more of it. Instead, her better, more immediate reaction was to be grateful, and drink what he offered when he sat beside her. She kept her gaze trained on the disturbed surface after that. “I’m not quite sure I _loved_ him. I only ever loved one person, you know.”

“Who was it?”

His name. His name. “Choi Seungcheol.” A friend, still, after all this years. Her affection for him did not abate in the least, nor did the ache it brought with it. If she closed her eyes now to imagine that warmth and that smile and that heart, she knew she would find it as far away as everything else was.

“ _Oh_. Well. That makes sense.” Yixing – she looked at him properly, this time, with the light of the tent – did not look at her in return. “You two were really close, right? I think he fancied you, too.”

“What a cruel thing to say!” she blurted out as a laugh, and drowned it in her drink. She finished the glass, and he took it from her. “I take it back, Yixing Song – you _are_ as cruel as a Slytherin.”

He laughed, then, and placed the glass on the bedside table. When he leaned, it was backwards, supported by his arms; not towards her. “I don’t think I appreciate that generalisation, Rose Park. Are we going by full names now?”

“Is _Song_ really your last name?”

She didn’t think. He stiffened visibly, and for a while, she thought that he would leave, run away again. It would be consistent with his behaviour, wouldn’t it? – but he remained where he was, and he smiled at her like he forgave her, and her question, and all that lingered within it. “Yeah. It is now.”

“I like – it,” she said when he stood, interrupted when he did, choking on a different _last word_ when he did. “Are you leaving already?”

Running away. Always running away. “What? No, I’m getting you more water.” _Oh_. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Yes,” she answered. Too quick. No – she could chalk it up to being drunk. Hopefully she wouldn’t remember this in the morning; if she did, she _had_ to make every attempt to pretend she didn’t. That seemed, to her, a wonderful plan. “I mean….sure.”

He smiled, and took the glass he put down. There was that heartbeat again, returning like a demon she could never outrun. It beat at too fast a pace, caught up to her every time he did _that_.

“Then I’ll stay.”


	6. Perspectival Difference II

**The Amazon Jungle.**

**Peru, August 2017.**

A drunken Rose was even more unpredictable than a sober one. Yixing already couldn’t figure her out when she was sober, and though she appeared much more upfront when she was drunk, everything seemed much more complicated all the same. So, no, her frankness didn’t help at all, or the fact that she seemed uncomfortable when the rest of the team brought up his not-so-secret attraction to her, and much more outspoken about Krystal. He hadn’t spoken Krystal’s name in months, not out loud, and had only ever seen it come from his hand through pen onto paper.

What made things more complicated was that she seemed to be more acquainted with the bruises and calluses of his memory than he wanted her to be. It was the side-effect of having someone come from one’s own hometown: she  _ knew _ him, in some way, and in that sense, every way that he hoped she would forget. Yixing saw how she looked at him, always looking for something to talk about, to get  _ him _ to talk. It was harder  _ not _ to when they were both drunk, in bed, in a way he didn’t want to be. He didn’t want this anymore, but he was too much of a coward. Too much Slytherin, and not enough the gallant, brave Choi Seungcheol.

Of course she would love that guy.  _ Of course it made sense _ .

And she asked him about his family – that was a long time coming – and he thought, even more now, that he would never be gallant or brave or proud of his blood or so honestly good. He was no hero.

“What? No, I’m getting you more water,” he lied, despite having the chance to leave.. “Do you want me to stay?” he asked, foolishly, even though he expected she’d be uncomfortable after all that unnecessary touching on his end. It was obvious to everyone else, and it was  _ surely _ obvious to her – he wanted to be close, he wanted to stay. Want, want, want, like a selfish bastard; every bit he thought Choi Seungcheol wasn’t. 

“Yes,” she answered, quickly followed with a, “I mean….sure.”. The slur slowly began to phase out of her words, but being more sober didn’t necessarily mean being more rational. He knew how she could be when she was drunk, but he knew it around other people. He knew her then always with other people in the room, someone to take her home, but he never was. And now, here, it seemed, for the briefest moment, that he could be decent, just because she wanted him to stay. 

That, out of anything, gave him more hope than getting Devil’s Snare out of ancient ruins, or getting out of London, or getting away from all the past but  _ her.  _

“Then I’ll stay,” he agreed, as if she asked him instead, and he sat down zealously. To make up for it, he tapped the glass again, filling it up with more drink to give to her. Did he seem too eager?

“You really  _ are _ cruel,” she laughed, taking the glass from him, and drinking so little of it. “You always indulge me.”

“I thought you said I was nice,” he countered, leaning back on her mattress again. And to think, when they were younger, he never would’ve imagined being on anybody’s bed other than to fuck them. It seemed like sacrilege now to think that way, or lecherous and desirous and every bit the stereotype. “If I indulge you, doesn’t that mean I’m nice?”

“Being too nice makes you mean,” she answered vaguely, sticking her tongue out at him. Merlin help him. He had to look away. A heartbeat, and more, and more! – what terrible things to feel in her company. She wouldn’t appreciate it if he told her. 

“I don’t know what that means,” he said frankly, feeling evermore the need to lie down. Instead, he supported himself by his elbows, slowly sinking into bed – into  _ her _ bed. She smelled so nice all the time, and her sheets were so soft, and – “You confuse me a lot. I think  _ that’s _ being mean.”

Sighing, she drank the rest of her glass, reaching over his lap to put it down on her bedside table. “ _ You _ confuse me a lot,” she grumbled in the process. 

Her elbow came dangerously close to where  _ it shouldn’t be _ , but it eased off of him just as quickly. Before he had a chance to feel the slightest hint of relief, she lied down beside him instead, both their legs dangling off the edge of the bed, and tugged him by the shirt. He fell easily at her behest. His grandfather should’ve beaten that weakness out of him. 

She was so close all of a sudden. If either of them moved an inch closer – not that he would dare to! – he would be able to feel her space intrude into his own. So he moved away, and looked upwards at her –

“How the  _ hell _ do you have a four-poster bed in your tent?” he asked, changing the topic as quickly as possible. If he looked at her now… 

“Anna – she’s my sister, you know that – wouldn’t let me go adventuring without  _ some _ luxury,” she explained, sounding bored by it. The luxury, it seemed to him, was not the money it took, but the care her sister invested towards her. As much as he owed Victoria and her husband the world, they would tell him to go camping in a sleeping bag and not much else. He supposed now was not a good time to mention that the tent he took with him was a stolen one from past exploits. “See? I’m not suited to all this adventuring and spel– spel _ unking _ .” She laughed, then, if only briefly and he looked at her: a mistake. Nothing else looked more beautiful, and he knew, he knew, but he  _ didn’t want to _ . Surely, it was the Peruvian firewhiskey. (Another lie.) “That’s a funny word….”

“I think you’re doing great,” he insisted, more muted, less angry that she thought she was unsuited to it and more overwhelmed by the truth of his statement. “You figured out where we needed to go. You did better than a professor.” 

“That’s only because he got sick! Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here, would I?” she asked, almost sounding bitter by it. She turned to her side, and faced him. Drunk and heavy-lidded, he could’ve kissed her if he wasn’t slightly more sober. “Why are  _ you _ here? At least tell me that. You never tell me anything.” 

“I tell you a lot of things.”

“Nothing about you. That’s being mean.”

“Didn’t we already establish that I’m mean?”

She reached forward and smacked his arm. Her hand remained, and her eyes closed, and firewhiskey couldn’t burn him any more than the desire to hold her hand could; and not only to take it away, but to hold it with purpose. She gripped his arm tighter in the beat of a breath. She didn’t speak for another, and waited for the one after that. “Tell me.”

If she opened her eyes now, how mortifying it would be, to be caught staring so affectionately at her. No, she wouldn’t appreciate that at all. 

“I was running away,” he answered. 

“I know that,” she told him matter-of-factly. It should have annoyed him, but she opened her eyes then, and stared at him with challenge. Now he was caught. Now he couldn’t look away.

“If you have me so figured out, then why did you ask?” he asked back as a last line of defense. As if having mercy on him, she took her hand away. She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued anyway. “I was running away from bad things, Rose. Krystal and I aren’t together anymore because we got caught up in it. Once we settled that, we weren’t the same. She stayed behind to pick up the pieces. I left because I’m selfish.” She remained quiet. He spoke too much, again. “Sorry. Was that too much information?”

“Not enough,” she muttered, closing her eyes again. She sounded more sober. Clearer, and more discerning, and that much more dangerous.

“I can’t tell you any more.” It sounded like an apology.

“I won’t force you to tell me more,” sounded like forgiveness. Rose was always so kind. “Not because I don’t want to hear any more. But I want to know more. And I can’t….and I don’t know if you’d tell me….but if you do, I’ll be here to listen.”

_ Too kind _ , he thought. There were many things here that could hurt her, and Yixing always thought that he protected her from them, and from her own clumsiness, yet here he was, poisonous as all else. Perhaps he had dealt with too much Devil’s Snare; perhaps they affected him, too. Wanting to know more had been his folly, as it would be hers. It would be easier if she stayed focus on other things that couldn’t hurt her. There was something in him that she couldn’t unravel, some void, some emptiness always felt, and now, when she reached for it, he found that he could not let her. Not now. Not like this. 

So he sat up, this time with every intent to leave, and filled up the glass with water once he found where he’d placed his wand. 

“You said you would stay,” she mumbled softly, sleepily, and for that he was grateful. He didn’t need water to sober up. That had been enough. When she touched his back, it held no intention other than to coax him back to comfort, to openness. That worked a few minutes ago. It wouldn’t work now.

“Only until you sobered up,” he answered, and stood up properly now, patting her knee as he did. They were just friends, after all. No matter how close they would get, they had to remain that way, for his sake and hers. “You’re sober. Get some rest.”

“Mean,” she mumbled as he made his way out, and he sighed as the tent flap fell behind him. Outside, the light festivities had dimmed further. There were only three at the table, all the younger ones, and he did not hesitate to sink back into his own space, his own bed, his silence.

“I know,” he said in return, to a Rose who could not hear.


End file.
